


in the morning when i wake

by brahe



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Dork Lovers Server Challenge, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, as per usual, bc i live for it and also that's the thing for this series, it's just soft fluff, there's also more, there's not much plot here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 07:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brahe/pseuds/brahe
Summary: His throat is practically a desert, and he can’t breathe out of his nose. His whole body aches in that vague way it does when he’s sick, and his sigh is broken by a weak cough.Great.He brings his blanket up over his head and feels a little sorry for himself. He hates being sick.





	in the morning when i wake

**Author's Note:**

> i have nothing to say for myself except it seems all i'm capable of is soft, plotless things and i didn't mean to fall this far down into this hole but here we are anyway
> 
> title from bloom by the paper kites

Brian wakes up slow, dragged out of his subconscious by his alarm, beeping incessantly. He reluctantly brings an arm out from under the covers to bat around at the night-table until he hits the alarm – snooze or off, he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t much care. He tucks his arm back under the blanket and rolls onto his back with a soft groan. His throat is practically a desert, and he can’t breathe out of his nose. His whole body aches in that vague way it does when he’s sick, and his sigh is broken by a weak cough. _Great_.

He rolls his head to the side, sees Roger’s side of the bed rumpled but empty. The movement makes him cough again, a little stronger this time, and he tucks his face into his pillow with a groan. He’d thought this might be coming; the last three days he’d been feeling off, more tired than usual, sneezing a bit. He was hoping he could stave it off, upping his vitamin C and drinking a lot of water, but given that he feels like he’s been hit by a truck, that didn’t seem to have worked.

The next time he coughs, he brings his blanket up over his head and feels a little sorry for himself. He hates being sick. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s quick to strike and it lingers for weeks. All he wants to do is stay curled up in bed, but he should really get some water, and maybe something to eat. _At least it’s Saturday_ , he thinks, trying to motivate himself out of bed. Two whole days to feel better before he has to do anything.

 

His legs shake when he stands, and he has to brace against the bed to wait for his head to stop spinning before he can try to walk. His whole body feels weak, swaying a little when he walks, and he trails his hand down the hallway wall to support himself on the way to the kitchen.

Roger’s sitting at the kitchen table when Brian makes it into the room, mug next to a notebook, and he’s spinning a pencil around like one of his drumsticks.

“Morning, Bri,” he says, looking up when he hears Brian come in. Brian blinks at him.

“Hey,” he says, except his throat is raw and his voice is rough and nearly gone, so all that really comes out is a low _ey_ sound. Roger frowns, eyebrows pulling in as he studies Brian.

“You feeling okay?” he asks, and Brian shakes his head. He shuffles to the sink, filling a glass with water and wincing a little when his throat hurts when he drinks, leaning heavily against the counter.

When he opens his eyes – _when had he closed them?_ – Roger’s standing in front of him, sleep mussed hair and bright blue eyes Brian’s favorite things. He offers Roger a smile, though it probably looks a little wane, and Roger brings a hand up to Brian’s cheek, running a thumb under his eye before he flips his hand over, on his toes just a little to press the back of it to Brian’s forehead.

“Hm, you’re burning up, babe,” Roger tells him, hand falling to rest on the side of Brian’s neck. Brian nods and lets his head fall to Roger’s shoulder, half curled around him.

“I think I’m getting sick,” Brian mumbles into Roger’s neck, and Roger gives him a quiet laugh.

“Sweetheart, you _are_ sick,” Roger says. He rubs small circles into the underside of Brian’s jaw with the hand still on his neck. “I wish you would’ve told me sooner you weren’t feeling well.”

Brian has to pick his head back up, the pressure in his sinuses too much for standing like that for too long. “Nothing you could’ve done about it,” he shrugs, voice stuffy. Roger slides his hand from Brian’s neck to his arm, rubbing up and down gently.

“Come on,” Roger tells him. “Let’s get you some tea and some meds and then back in bed. I’ll call the boys and tell them we’re off for today.”

Brian’s nodding along until the last part, and he hums, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Roger’s guided Brian over to the table as they talked, and he pushes gently at his shoulder to get him to sit. “We were supposed to go in to record today,” Roger reminds him, and Brian groans as he remembers. Roger gives him a soft smile, threading his fingers carefully through Brian’s tangled curls, tucking some of it behind his ear. Brian leans the side of his head against Roger’s stomach, and Roger runs his hands over Brian’s hair, holding Brian’s head to him. “Don’t worry about it, babe, no big deal.”

Roger steps away from him, then, and Brian sways after him with a faint whine. Roger laughs softly. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and Brian slouches down in the chair with his eyes mostly closed as he listens to Roger move around the kitchen. He hears him put the kettle on, and then he hears the phone, Roger’s voice soft as he tells Freddie and then John that Brian’s sick. It’s quiet for a bit, and then Roger’s hand is at his shoulder, gently shaking him awake.

“This one’s really got you, huh,” Roger says when Brian blinks his eyes open, and he presses a kiss to Brian’s forehead as he places a mug of tea in front of him, and two pills. “Take these for the fever and the stuffiness, and then drink this, and we’ll go back to bed, okay?”

Brian nods slowly, reaching for his water to down the medication, and Roger sits next to him as he sips on the tea. Brian lifts a finger in the direction of Roger’s notebook.

“What’re you working on?”

Roger shrugs. “A song, maybe. There was a bit of it in my head this morning.”

“Play it for me when it's done?”

“‘Course,” Roger agrees with a gentle smile. “Did you finish the tea?”

Brian nods, drinking the last of it, and Roger stands. “Good, come on then. Back to bed with you.”

Brian wobbles dangerously when he stands, and Roger steadies him with one hand on his hip and the other in the center of his chest. “Easy, sweetheart,” he says, soft, and Brian stays there for a moment, pulling together his center of gravity and blinking the dots from his vision, Roger's hands grounding, familiar. Roger's looking at him with bright, focused eyes when Brian opens his own again.

“You okay?” Roger asks, and Brian shrugs.

“I'm stuffy,” he tells him. “And cold. And hot. And tired.” He lists forward a little, back in Roger's space again, and Roger presses a little harder against his chest.

“I'm sure,” Roger agrees, and he nudges at Brian until he starts a slow shuffle down the hallway to the bedroom. “We'll get you back to sleep and you’ll feel better,” he says, following behind him with a hand hovering near Brian's back.

Brian just about collapses onto the mattress when he gets close enough, his face landing somewhere near the pillows but not quite there. He's already fading out when Roger pushes at his thigh, and then his shoulder. “Come on, love,” he says, “get under the blanket.”

Brian whines, but caves anyway, wiggling around until his head is on Roger's pillow and he can slide his body back under the sheets. He blinks blearily at Roger, breathing out of his mouth because his nose is so stuffed, and he reaches up to rub at his eyes, which burn a little and water rather a lot when he presses his hand against them.

“I love you,” Brian says, and Roger laughs quietly, setting a glass of water on the bedside table before smoothing a hand over Brian's hair, pushing it back out of his face.

“I love you, too, dearest. I'll be right back, okay?” he says, and Brian hums, letting his eyes close as Roger turns away.

 

\--

 

He must have fallen asleep, because the sun is much lower in the sky when he opens his eyes again, and he feels hot and sticky and gross. Roger’s in the bed next to him, Brian's robe wrapped loosely around his body as he reads the novel Brian’s seen him working through lately.

Brian kicks the blanket off, rolling to face the ceiling with a groan. There’s rustling from Roger’s side of the bed, and then his face comes into view over Brian’s head.

“Hey,” Roger says, keeping his voice soft. “How are you feeling?”

Brian makes another sound of distress. “Gross,” he says. “Sweaty.” He’s sure his hair is as flat as it goes, matted to his head.

Roger hums, and he reaches over to card a hand through Brian's admittedly limp curls. “You’re fever must’ve broke,” he tells him. “Shower?”

“A shower sounds wonderful,” Brian agrees, and he sits up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, only to end up in a fit of coughing, nearly doubled over as he struggles to get in enough air. Roger’s hand comes to his back, patting gently before rubbing in circles, and he’s got a soft, sympathetic look on his face when Brian recovers.

“Yeah, definitely a shower. Just take it slow.”

Brian shuffles behind him as they head to the bathroom, and he watches Roger turn on the water, testing the temperature with his hand.

Brian takes his clothes off slowly, careful not to move too fast and end up coughing again, and when he turns to step in the shower he's surprised to see Roger's undressed, too.

“What?” Brian asks, although it comes out a little flat and croaky. Roger tugs the curtain to the side.

“You think I'm gonna let you shower by yourself?” he says, shooting Brian a look before stepping over the side of the tub and disappearing behind the shower curtain. “You'll pass out and die,” Roger explains. “Or slip and fall and die. And I'd rather you not do that.”

Brian takes another moment to blink at the shower before he, too, climbs in, sliding the curtain closed behind him. It's warm already, and he can feel the steam starting to work at his sinuses immediately. He takes a breath in through his nose and sighs, relieved.

“This is your best idea,” Brian says, which earns him a soft laugh. Roger's hands are on his arms, and he switches them around so Brian's under the spray. He shivers at first, the last of the chill leaving his body as the warmth of the water seeps into his bones. He hums, letting his eyes close, and he didn't realize he'd started to sway until he feels Roger's palms on his chest.

“See, this is exactly why you can't do this by yourself,” Roger says, and Brian flutters his eyes open, dazed. He's still exhausted, and his limbs feel heat-heavy and rather useless. Roger runs his hands over Brian's chest before he brings them to Brian's hair, making sure to wet the curls completely.

“You’re too tall for me to wash your hair like this,” Roger tells him, and he tugs Brian to reposition them again, reaching up to angle the spray of the shower down away from the both of them. “If I tell you to sit down will you promise not to fall over and drown?”

Brian hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing – he's honestly not entire sure what Roger's just asked him, not much beyond his touches making it past the haze Brian feels both mentally and physically. He sits down, though, when Roger presses at his shoulder, his legs folded criss-cross with his knees resting up against the sides of the tub, and tilts his head back.

Roger drops a kiss to his shoulder before he gets a handful of Brian's soap, working it into his hair, careful not to tug on any knots and not to get any in his eyes. Brian sits still for him, little wheezing breaths broken up by soft, barely-there moans as Roger works on getting the sweat and general dirt from Brian's hair, massaging his fingers in Brian's head.

When Roger's satisfied with his work, he grabs the shower head out of its holder, bringing it down to Brian to rinse the soap out of his hair, cupping a hand at his hairline to keep it from washing into his eyes.

He returns the shower head to its place, and rests a hand on Brian's shoulder. “Can you stand back up for me?” he prompts, quiet, and Brian's answering sound is almost like a protest. Roger smoothes a hand over Brian's hair. “Come on, love, almost done.”

Brian finds it nearly impossible to pry his eyes open – he manages a squint as he uses Roger's arms to stand back up again, keeping his grip tight on Roger's forearms as his knees shake. He doesn't quite register Roger washing his body, or the water being shut off. The next thing he's really consciously aware of is sitting back on the bed again, a soft pair of pajama pants on, and his hair towel-dried to the best or Roger's ability.

Roger returns to the room, then, from wherever he had been – the kitchen, Brian would guess, since he heads for Brian’s side of the bed to put the water glass, now refilled, back on the nightstand before coming to stand between Brian’s knees. He runs his hands through Brian’s hair, for once relatively easy given the curls are still wet, bending down to drop a kiss to Brian’s forehead when he looks up at him. He brings his hands to rest at the sides of Brian’s neck, thumbs stroking along his jaw.

“Drink some water before you go back to bed, okay?” Roger says, and Brian nods, body heavy. He drops his chin to Roger’s stomach, his eyes falling shut. Roger gives a soft laugh, and he lets Brian rest on him for a moment, before he gently pushes him away.

“Drink,” he says. “I’ll be back in few minutes.”

Brian watches him leave, feeling suddenly rather cold. He reaches for the water, downing half of it then crawling under the covers, exhausted the moment his head hits the pillow.

The next thing he’s aware of is Roger climbing into the bed next to him, and Brian rolls towards him with an almost-whine, his forehead ending up pressed against Roger’s thigh. Roger’s hand immediately ends up in his hair, carding through it a few times before he rubs at Brian’s scalp, soothing, just enough pressure to send him back to the edge of consciousness.

“Go back to sleep, Bri,” he hears, low and soft, and he does just that, lulled by Roger's hand and the soft sounds of his breathing.


End file.
